


For the Love of Locked Doors

by MoonisthenewKira



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel Forever Fic Challenge, I accidentally Sabriel, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Poor Sam, Prompt Fill, i am trash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-31 21:28:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3993484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonisthenewKira/pseuds/MoonisthenewKira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT #59<br/>Canon - The first time Sam walks in on Dean and Cas - and the second, and third, and fourth, and JESUS CHRIST LOCK THE DAMN DOOR! (From Sam's POV)</p>
<p>Five times Sam saw things he didn't need to, and one time karma hit Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For the Love of Locked Doors

**Author's Note:**

> For a Destiel Fic Challenge on Facebook  
> I apologize for the Sabriel at the end, don't like, don't read the last bit (I'm shipper trash)

**Motel- “Oh fuck lock the door”**

Sam grinned as he heads towards the motel room, happy at a research trip gone right. The ghost that called the Winchesters out to the small town in Mississippi turned out to be a Michael LeFonte, plantation owner in the 1800s. Turning the knob, he readied himself to tell Dean (and maybe Cas if the angel was there) where the grave is.

 “Hey guys get thi—HOLY FUCK I AM SO SORRY!” Dean and Castiel gave identical shocked looks from their position on the wall, Dean pinned and covered in hickeys and Castiel halfway grinding on the elder Winchester.

Sam looked away, blushing madly, “Lock the fucking door, put a tie on the damn knob, shit!” With that he hurried out of the room, scarred for the indeterminate future.

 

**Bunker- “Really? REALLY?”**

Sam just wanted a beer. The research for the current hunt was turning up nothing. He didn’t need this. He _really_ didn’t need this.

                “Dude! We _eat_ here!” he cries, hand over his eyes. He _definitely_ didn’t need to know that his brother gave a certain angel head in the kitchen.

 

**Bunker- “Keep it down!”**

                Sam pulls his pillow over his head. His brother is loud to begin with, but he wasn’t aware of how Cas’s voice c _arried_ down the halls. The Enochian the angel is babbling echoes nicely. There’s rapid knocking and Sam rolls out of bed, opening the door to reveal a haggard Kevin.

                “What’s up?”

                The prophet shakes his head as he enters the room, “I can understand Cas and I really, **_REALLY_** don’t want to hear how your brother is defiling an angel."

                Sam considers asking, but decides ignorance is bliss.

 

**Bunker- “HOLY SHIT LOCK THE DOOR”**

Dean wasn’t known for being quiet, both inside and outside the bedroom. It was because of this that Sam thought Dean was alone in his room, if in his room at all.

                “Dean, I think I may have found an—OH GOOD LORD LOCK THE DOOR!” Sam slams the door, face redder than ever with the image of Dean gagged and tied to the bed imprinted on his retinas. Once was a fluke, twice a mistake, but three? Three was borderline voyeurism.  And with that thought, Sam went to the bunker library to see if there were spells or sigils for brain bleach.

 

**Bunker- “Okay, this is my bad”**

Sam hummed along to his music, reaching for the motel room key in his pocket. He just added some new songs to his iPod thanks to a Miss Jane Boeing from Illinois, and Dean having crazy sex with his angel gave Sam the excuse to buy noise-cancelling headphones from Charlie. As he entered the motel room, he realized that he should have knocked. With this realization came the scene in front of him-Castiel, Angel of the Lord, going balls-deep into his brother with a moan. Sam already knew Dean was a bottom, his brother didn’t hide discomfort as well as he thought. It was, however, one thing to _know_ and an entirely different thing to _see_. Sam silently closed the door, counting his imaginary blessings that the couple was too involved in each other to hear his arrival, and beat his head against the wall. He is so done with this **_shit_**.

**Sabriel style-Because I’m trash**

                The werewolf hunt turned out to be a chase for a pack of _four_ werewolves, leaving the Winchesters bruised, bloody and a little broken. Seeing no life-threating injuries, they drove back in silence for the three hours to the bunker. Sam slowly showers, checking himself over for extensive injuries. He finds his side pretty beat up, but nothing that needs immediate stitching. So he puts on gauze wrap, his sleepwear, and calls it a day, heading to his room. There, he finds a certain (somewhat recently revived) archangel sprawled on his bed, wearing nothing but—were those his boxers?

                Dean stops suddenly in front of Sam’s door, older brother senses tingling at the noises behind the door.

                “Sam? You alright in there?”

                There’s a soft groan, “I’m fine Dean.”

                “Bullshit, I’m coming in—okay I believe you.” Dean does a beautiful 180 turn on his heel and walks out the door, slamming it behind him. 


End file.
